Free Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) by Sara Ney Page B

complains because Mom never baked him special cookies—”
    “—What did he want with cookies, anyway? He’s a guy.”
    “Girls!” Georgia laughs. “I made him cake ! Besides, when he was younger, we didn’t have the money. All these ingredients you’re throwing on each other for fun aren’t cheap.”
    She’s right; flour and sugar are everywhere, including on me. In my hair, on my clothes. I run a hand down the dainty, vintage apron wrapped around my waist, flattening out the wrinkles.
    I love this stupid thing; I wonder if I could get away with wearing an apron on a regular basis as I lean against the counter, fingering several thin, charms on my necklace—one is a tiny, gold wishbone my sister bought me when I graduated from college two years ago, and I’m seldom without it.
    When we were younger, my dad was big into duck hunting.
    He would come home with the birds (gross, I know) and my mom would dress them for dinner, saving the wishbone for my sister, Morgan, and I to pull apart after our evening meal.
    A friendly little competition, if I was lucky enough to snap off the wishbone, I usually said a prayer for stupid, trivial things; new clothes. A cool car. But the older I grew, my wishes became more altruistic; a steady job. Healthy family. Loyal friends.
    I adore wishbones, just like I love throwing pennies into a wishing well, and making wishes when the clock strikes eleven-eleven.
    Childish? Maybe.
    But something so small has always filled me with tremendous hope; and I always hoped for love. No, not hoped— wished . Wished it from the depths of my soul.
    Yeah, I get it; we’re living in a world where feminism and female independence is a valuable asset. Two values that women have fought for centuries to obtain—but that doesn’t make me want someone to share my life with any less.
    Coming home to an empty apartment with no cat, no dog, or companionship sucks.
    The twins’ squabbling interrupts my daydreaming.
    “We know the ingredients aren’t cheap, Mom.” The twins emphasize the same word, and reach for the jar of tiny purple candies at the same time, too.
    “Then stop wasting sprinkles,” Georgia chastises.
    The twins exchange bemused glances. “But it’s fun.”
    Inside the back pocket of my jeans, my phone vibrates, its chirpy little buzzing. I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
     
    Tabitha: Hey, what are you doing today ?
    Me: Playing baker—making delicious, gourmet cookies .
    Tabitha: Shut up. LOL. For real though, what are you doing today?
    Me: Why are you laughing?! That’s what I’m doing!
    Tabitha: This I gotta see; Collin’s taking Greyson to pick out their parents’ anniversary gift, then they’re going to dinner. I’m bored. Let me jump in the shower quick and I’ll be over in 20 minutes.
    Tabitha: I wanna eat COOKIES!!!!
    Me: NO! Don’t! I’m not home…
    Tabitha: Ugh, well that sucks! So where ARE you?
    Me: I’m… at Dexter’s, um… Mom’s house?
    Tabitha: WHAT??? Stop it, you are not.
    Me: Shit, I shouldn’t have told you.
    Tabitha: Well that escalated quickly! I thought you weren’t dating! Seriously though, what the HELL ARE YOU DOING AT HIS MOM’S HOUSE BAKING COOKIES?
    Me: His sisters texted me and wanted me to bake with them today—they really like me, I guess, and they’re young. What was I supposed to say???
    Tabitha: Wait, is this the twins?
    Me: Yeah.
    Tabitha: How bout “Sorry twinsies! I might be lusting after your nerdy brother, but I’m NOT ACTUALLY DATING HIM!” There. That’s what you could say.
    Me: *rolling my eyes* Oh, like it’s that easy.
    Tabitha: Yeah, it is actually. You just type it out and hit SEND. Please tell me Dexter is there with you.
    Me: Um. No. He went in to work today, but I think one of the twins texted him. They were being really weird and sneaky, giggling over their phone a few minutes ago.
    Tabitha: Sexer Dexer!
    Me: That nickname is worse than Sexy Dexy.
    Tabitha: I still can’t believe you’re at his mom’s